Murder Me for Nickels (6 page)

For a fact, Walter Lippit wasn’t running a democracy or anything like that, but he and I, some of the time, split the jobs, talked this and that over, gave each other a hand. I liked Walter Lippit Rolling his girl on the couch had nothing to do with that. I liked Pat, too.

“Something’s no good, Jack?”

“Yes,” I said. “All of it.”

He looked at me and then down at the bottle. “Just a minute,” he said, and poured himself some. I held out my glass and he gave me some too.

Then I said, “Your beating up Benotti isn’t….”

“I didn’t beat up Benotti, Jack.”

“All right, all right.” I took a swallow and started over. “Your pushing his men around and he pushing ours around sounds too much like a brawl to me.”

“You don’t like brawls?”

“Lay off for a minute, will you please, Walter? I’m talking about business and you’re talking like a delinquent. Which is no good, just as a matter of principle.”

“What kind of business, just as a matter of principle, do you think I’m running? What they do polite-like in the cosmetics business, let’s say, we do the same, except not so polite. Now, you got more sudden principles?”

“And in this brawling around,” I said, trying to ignore the rest he had been saying, “there’s one guy gets caught in the middle, which is the operator, the guy who’s using our machine.”

“In the cosmetics business, maybe, the customer doesn’t get caught in the middle?”

“Gimme another drink,” I said.

He gave me another drink and felt so good about his argument he decided to humor me.

“All right, I grant you. I run a little joint with a jukebox in it and there’s labor trouble in front of the door, with fisticuffs and so on. That’s no good, I grant you.”

“Fisticuffs,” I said and took a swallow. “I like that, fisticuffs.”

“All right. You know what I mean. What you don’t know, what you don’t think of, I mean, is that all this is going to last maybe two, three days. Like I said in the beginning. Now here’s how. You….”

“Just a minute.”

First of all, I thought that his whole plan stunk and secondly, I didn’t like it. It stunk because it was just a move on the surface. I didn’t like it—I was hoping that part wouldn’t come up, between Lippit and me.

“You got a goon’s point of view,” I said to Lippit. “A guy leans on you and you lean back.”

“Harder.”

“Yuh. Goon’s point of view. What I think about all this I’ve explained to you. That I’m sure Benotti’s got money behind him, that he’s well-connected. He’s no independent He’s been sent in to take over where the syndicate missed a trick.”

“All right, there’s money. And if he’s so well connected, how come they sent a jerk like Benotti?”

“Because they think you’re a jerk.”

“What?”

“They must. You been running this racket pretty nice and friendly.”

“I know,” he said. “I know. Like a jerk.”

“And now more so. Any muscle you’ll show, Benotti will show.”

Lippit just laughed. It had been the wrong argument and Lippit just laughed and wouldn’t even discuss it I waited till he was done and then I tried to make a little more sense.

“You got this slap-dash plan now, Walter, and I grant you that it’s pretty hefty slap-dash and proves how mad you are and what you can do about it. But aside from the way you feel about Benotti and his mosquito tactics….”

“Mosquito? You mean to just brush….”

“Yes, mosquito. You said yourself you’re going to take care of it in maybe two, three days. So how big is it?”

“Listen, St. Louis….”

“Let me finish, Walter. I’m now talking long range.”

“To hell with that long-winded talk.”

“I’m talking to save you grief.”

“Any kind of grief they care to throw….”

“I’m talking money.”

“All right,” he said. “Talk.”

“You got this set-up. You rent out and service machines. I grant you, it’s pretty well sewed up and with your mosquito….”

“Stop using that word, Jack.”

“And with your bomber tactics you’ll even get that set-up down pat for a long time.”

“What else?”

“Walter. Take a drink and let me finish, will you?”

He took a drink and I tried again.

“So you got a franchise on putting all the little wires back in order when a music box stops making music, and meanwhile you collect all the quarters and dimes—which comes to a heap—as long as your servicing includes putting the discs in the machines, taking out the old ones, putting the new hits in, and so on and so on.”

“As long as? What’s this about as long as?”

“The records go this way: manufacturer, jobber, jukebox operator. You got the operators sewed up. They use your machines and they buy your service. You get the discs from the jobber, and the jobber gets his from the factory.”

“And you got this sly proposition,” he said, “I should buy the manufacturer and skip the jobber, huh?” He leaned over the table and said, “Go to sleep, Jack. It’s your bedtime, Jack.”

“I will.” I got up, for the effect of it, and then I said, “But I’m not so asleep, Lippit, that I’d dream up a dumb deal like you just mentioned.”

“Now, wait a minute. I wasn’t serious.”

“But I was.”

“What did you say, boy wonder?”

“You grab the jobber. You buy in, you buy him out, you maybe think of a better trick. You can’t horse with the manufacturer because he’s too big and he isn’t in town, but you grab the jobber and you got two links of the chain, to put yourself solid, and to tie up Benotti.”

He said, “Hmm,” or something like that, and then he poured down the rest of his drink.

“Meanwhile,” he said, “we got this other thing to do.”

“Walter. Listen to me.”

“I did.”

“But did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah. Not bad. Now let’s get back. Tomorrow, first thing, you set up the goon squads the way I was telling you. The thing over at Hough and Daly, I’ll give that to Folsom. He can….”

“Walter, I been trying to tell you….”

“Sit down,” he said. “Just sit and now you listen.”

I tried once more, though I didn’t promise myself very much. Lippit didn’t like stalling and that’s all I was doing now.

“You hit a place like Hough and Daly, Walter, you know what kind of stink that can make? You know how many guys depend on that outfit? Do you know that every radio, TV, electronics, recording outfit in town….”

“You sound like you own a piece in all of them, Jack, instead of working for me. You working for me, Jack, or you just drinking my liquor and sitting there bending my ear as if you knew what you were doing?”

“All right,” I said. “Forget it,” and I hoped he would. It would make my problem simpler and it would mean less to him when I tried for the little bit, for the one little thing where he might give in without giving me trouble.

“Let Folsom do the goon job,” I said. “He should like that.”

“And you do the raid on Hough and Daly?”

“Why do you keep saying Hough and Daly? You mean Benotti’s equipment place, don’t you?”

“You kept saying Hough and Daly, Jack, and I don’t care which you call it as long as you know the job. I want Benotti’s operation to end up like a cripple, understand? If that means going next door and hitting Hough and Daly too, then hit ‘em. Main thing I’m after….”

“Sure, I know.”

He looked at me, wondering about my irritation, but then he just shrugged.

“Your bedtime,” he said. “Beat it.”

I did. Walter Lippit was not running a democracy.

Chapter 7

I
drove home—an upstairs apartment with large windows—sat down on the bed and looked at the telephone.

Much too late to do any calling. But much to do. And getting that wrecking job away from Folsom, getting to do that delicate thing by myself, was just part of the problem. What the problem came down to, if Benotti’s repair place got wrecked proper, I would lose money.

I have a rule about money, which goes: make it, spend it. It’s the nearest thing to a rule which fits the way I’ve been living through one job or another, until I put in with Lippit. After a while with Lippit, and what with the business we built, there was money left over. What I mean is, I wasn’t used to spending that much and I didn’t have the time, anyway.

That’s how I got to own Blue Beat.

This studio taped only the rare jazz for the aficionados. Naturally, the place was going broke. I had bought the place for what always comes out as a mixture of reasons: I had the dough; I saw a bargain; I like jazz; I know some of the rare musicians, whether they’re known or not. Sew it all up and call it a gamble, and maybe I got Blue Beat because of that. The Lippit operation by then was getting boring, and smooth.

Then Blue Beat made money. We only taped what we liked, but this time it paid. Next for the action, I bought up what was left of a pressing plant on the ground floor where we started pressing our own records and also did jobs for the rest of the studios in the area. Nothing big, but it didn’t lose money. The whole works was Loujack, Inc., Jack St. Louis on the top of the stock pile, but silently.

I’d rather not mix friends and business, and as for Loujack I wanted Walter Lippit to be just a friend. He knew that the outfit was there, the way you know there’s a lamp post down the street, but so what. He didn’t know—there were few who did—that Loujack was me. That would have been different. That would have been less like a lamp post down the street and more like uncle Walter Lippit observing the doings of his favorite nephew. Next, kindly interest. Next, this being all in the family, he might have dreamt dreams about mergers and empires and since Lippit was not much of a dreamer, next thing, he would grab. I’m not against Lippit—friend of mine—but I myself don’t like to be grabbed.

I sat on the bed and looked at the telephone. It was three A.M., but I picked up the phone and called Herbie who did the errands at Blue Beat.

It rang a long time and then I got disturbed. “Yessir?”

“Herbie, this is Jack. I’m sorry to be….”

“Honey, please!”

“
What?
”

Then there was sudden, dead calm in the earpiece which meant Herbie had his hand over the phone. When he came back on he did with a fierce whisper.

“Jack? It’s three o’clock!”

“I know I’m….”

“I’m not a,l,o,n,e.”

“What’s the matter, she doesn’t know how to spell?”

“I don’t know.”

I took a deep breath and started all over.

“I’ve got to know, Herbie, if you went over to Hough and Daly yesterday.”

“Yesterday? I didn’t do any pick-ups or deliveries yesterday. Today I did, though.”

“It’s after twelve, Herbie. That’s why I asked….”

“Oh. Yesterday. Yes. I took the recording equipment to the Rushmore Hotel, for that session with….”

“Did you go to Hough and Daly, Herbie?”

“Oh. Yes. But I didn’t pick up the mixer. Just the spools Conrad ordered and the new cable. Did you know about the new cable?”

I didn’t know about the new cable and I didn’t care about the new cable. I only cared about the mixer, and that hadn’t been picked up.

Herbie said, “Yes, honey,” again.

“I didn’t say anything,” I told him.

“I didn’t mean—what I was saying—”

“Tomorrow,” I told him. “Spell it for me tomorrow,” and I hung up.

I sat on the bed and worried about the mixer. This is a machine about the size of a portable bar and a good recording studio can’t do without it The one we used at Blue Beat cost twenty G’s plus. The wires come in from the pickups where the session goes on, the wires go out to the tape where everything is recorded. In between is the mixer, and it mixes. With a good operator listening in and working the dials a bull moose can come out like a choir of angels. Without the mixer a violin can drown out a drum.

Our machine was in the Hough and Daly building because it was getting repairs. A little job costing nine-o-five seventy. But the price wasn’t worrying me, only that the machine wasn’t back at the studio. It was after three A.M., and I looked at the phone and said, “Conrad, I’m sorry, and I hope you are only asleep.” Then I rang him up.

He answered very quickly.

“Conrad, I’m sorry….”

“Godammit, Jack, go to hell,” and he hung up on me.

I looked at the dead phone and thought Conrad should have been asleep. He wasn’t a kid like Herbie and working ten, twelve hours a day running Blue Beat Recording should have put Conrad to sleep long ago.

I called him up again.

“Conrad, don’t hang up again,” I said first thing.

He said, “Yes, honey,” rather softly, and then directly into my ear, “Jack, dammit, I thought I made clear that I wasn’t a,l,o,n,e.”

“Yours can’t spell either?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Listen, Conrad, it’ll only take a minute.”

“All right,” he said. “What the hell. But don’t ever do this again.”

“I won’t. I just talked to Herbie and….”

“This hour?”

“He wasn’t asleep either. Nor a, 1, o, n, e.”

“Gee,” said Conrad, “I didn’t know he was married.”

“You listening?”

“Yes.”

“He said he didn’t pick up the mixer yesterday.”

“I know. It cuts our schedule to pieces but it wasn’t really promised for yesterday. More like today. Noon, maybe.”

“That’s too late, Conrad. You got to get it out of there before then.”

Conrad mumbled something and then he said, “You sound very anxious. Something wrong?”

“Yes.”

“I warned you,” he said. “Don’t tell me the details, but I warned you.”

Conrad, who ran Blue Beat for me, was the only one who knew that I owned the recording studio and the pressing plant on the first floor. I was in and out of the studio, but the rest of the crew, like Herbie the driver, only knew that I sometimes brought talent over. It explained why I showed up in the place, why I was interested in getting the mixer back, because without that machine there could be no sessions.

Conrad, of course, knew much more. I said, “I want you to call that guy for me, Conrad. The one who’s working on the mixer. And tell him to get it in shape extra early. If he can’t finish it, he should at least tie up the guts, get the thing out of that shop before regular starting time in the morning.”